


Diary of a Wandering Princess

by suezahn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back
Genre: Angst, Bespin, Diary/Journal, F/M, Hoth, Kissing, Love, Millennium Falcon - Freeform, Romance, Trip to Bespin, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 09:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suezahn/pseuds/suezahn
Summary: A slightly different take on the trip to Bespin. This doesn't fit any particular story line; it's just a bit of fun and a way to use up ideas that I didn't in my Kismet take on this momentous trip.





	1. 34.20.4315

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters depicted herein are the property of Lucasfilm, Disney, etc. My only profit is in the form of readers' feedback. Please be generous!
> 
> Note: This was originally completed in 2009, then updated in 2011 to fix typos and stuff.   
> It won the 2012 MediaWest*Con Fan Q Award for Best Star Wars Story.

Any idiot can face a crisis – it's day to day living that wears you out.  
 **—** Anton Chekhov

* * *

 

 

34.20.4315

This is my first entry. I've never tried keeping a journal before—they can be a liability in my current line of work. Plus, they always struck me as a rather self-absorbed exercise anyway, and I prefer to deal with more practical matters. But now that I seem to have more time than I will know what to do with, I've decided to start this record for the following reasons:

* Alleviate boredom while sitting out my shifts in the  _Millennium Falcon_ 's cockpit;

* Help me muddle through this intolerable situation without losing my mind; and

* Document evidence against Captain Solo if he ever tries to pull another stunt like the one he did back in the circuitry bay today!

Here's a quick status report of where things stand:

* Echo Base on Hoth has been overrun.

* The Rebel cell has scattered like so many cryanth seeds (I can only hope they're germinating).

* Luke Skywalker… (Dear Goddess, I'm worried about him!) His snowspeeder was shot down nothing more was heard before Captain Solo forcefully pulled me from the Command Center. I'm not sure if I'm ready to accept this yet. Some part of me is convinced he survived, so I'm guarding that hope carefully.

* All the troop transports stationed at the south cove got away; I was able to confirm this visually as we flew past, so that's something. I'm praying that Rieekan made it to his transport as well.

* Han Solo and Chewbacca have not in fact left. Indeed, they stayed longer than anyone in order to get me out — they're the reason I'm still here at all. We escaped on the  _Falcon_ , which is remarkable, all things considered. C3PO is with us as well. A motley group, but at least we've had some experience working together. When the credits are down, we make a good team. Well, except for 3PO, whom we've already had to turn off once. (Luke owes me for this!)

* The hyperdrive of the  _Falcon_  continues to malfunction even after multiple attempts to fix it. On top of this, the ship suffered significant damage from enemy fire and asteroid damage. (Yes, asteroids. Don't ask.) In my humble opinion, it's probably only a matter of time before we suffer some cataclysmic failure and that will be the end of it.

My impressions of the past day?

* I hate Imperials.

* I hate asteroids.

* I hate giant nasty space slugs.

* My impression of the  _Millennium Falcon_  isn't too charitable at the moment, as you've seen, but I'm still reserving severe judgment because while I've already had enough frights on this trip to set me for life, I am still alive. Although I am starting to wish I'd taken my chances in the snow on Hoth.

All right, that's a lie.

* I hate Hoth, probably more than all the rest combined. The cold never went away. After a while it felt like my body temperature had dropped so low I didn't think it would ever recover. I rarely slept — even when I could stop shivering long enough to relax, I was afraid that if I fell asleep I wouldn't wake up again!

Presently I'm in the spare cabin still trying to warm up, although the hot shower a little while ago has definitely helped. So has the spiced tea Chewbacca brewed up. (That was quite nice of him. More on Chewie later.) I'm now snuggled under two blankets and finally beginning to feel human again. I may not emerge until we reach Bespin.

By the way, Han is estimating that will take about 14 days.

That's right. The Alliance is careening out of control while I'm stuck on this old freighter for the next two weeks creeping along the edge of nowhere with Mr. I-Can't-Commit.

The mind boggles!

Because Han is rightly concerned something else might blow up or — Force forbid — we're attacked again, he's decided we need to start manning the cockpit in four-hour shifts. I get the feeling this arrangement will get old quickly.

He also decided I should be the first to get some rest (which was gallant of him), but I'm no more exhausted than either of them. I do wish he'd get it through his thick skull that I'm not fragile. I mean, if he'd only said that he and Chewie wanted to get started immediately on repairs while I took first shift off, I would have agreed with his logic. But no, he had to imply I NEEDED sleep. Naturally that resulted in an argument.

Goddess, I'm so tired of arguing with that man.

I've used this cabin before. It usually serves as storage space so it's a bit cramped and there's nothing for decorations or entertainment. It was while shifting things around in here to make it more livable that I found this datapad, and that's when I got the idea to write out my thoughts. I still need to think up a pass code and set this for private viewing — the last thing I need is a set of snoopy hazel eyes reading this. He thinks he knows so much about me already and I'd just as soon let him keep thinking that; it gives me the upper hand.

And yes, his eyes are hazel. Well, more of a grayish brown with gold melted in the center. (Don't ask.) It's a long story and I'm just too tired to get into it right now.


	2. 34.20.4315…later

34.20.4315…later

I can't sleep.

I'm also having second thoughts about keeping this journal. Why? Because rather than ignoring things I don't want to think about, I'm lying here feeling compelled to write them out. As if I needed another reason for insomnia.

But, since I've started this and I hate quitting anything, here I am.

I'm at a loss. I have no idea how to write this without sounding like some gushing schoolgirl…

Han kissed me today.

I don't mean he kissed me like the little pecks on the cheek I give friends when I'm in a playful mood or feeling grateful. I mean he swept me up and bent me back and KISSED me like…like his life depended on it!

And Goddess help me, but I enjoyed it. Too much. Something… I'm going to chalk this up to temporary insanity due to fatigue because I think something inside me snapped. It was like all the tension and anger that's been coiling up inside me about Han lately was finally stretched too far, and then it snapped and there I was, kissing him back, just as desperate.

For the record, he IS a good kisser. Why doesn't that surprise me?

All the same, he's lucky I didn't just knee him in the groin. Had it been anyone else, I probably would have.

Why was he so lucky?

I'm supposed to be honest in a journal, right?

I like Han. I always have. On some perverse level beyond my better judgment, I'm fascinated by him. If I thought he wouldn't notice and make some annoying comment, I could spend the day just watching him. I've never been much of a daydreamer (Who has the time?), but he seems to trigger that in me. Sometimes I don't even realize I'm doing it until he catches me in the act, and of course he's incapable of being civilized about it. He'll tease me with a cheap shot or a poorly veiled innuendo; I'm almost used to those now and can usually field them with a snappy retort or a frosty glare. No, it's the times when he doesn't say anything — when I catch him staring back at me with that same far-away look — that I'm left unnerved. And then it's like…there's this energy in the air, crackling between us, and all I want to do is touch him.

Maybe that's what snapped inside me today. When he took my hand and pulled me closer, that static energy was there, just growing stronger, and when he kissed me… It was a very pleasant shock.

Look who's getting all poetic!

What irks me is that he seemed to know this would happen. He said as much back in the South Passage on Hoth, and then again right before kissing me. Although to be fair, it's usually obvious whether or not I like someone — father always said I transmitted my emotions a bit too much. Han is not THAT perceptive.

Ugh, I can't believe I called him a scoundrel. A SCOUNDREL? No wonder he teased me. It sounds like something right out of the most torrid romance serial-vids. I would have mocked it, too.

The worst part, though, is that I should KNOW better. After all, he still plans to leave as soon as we can reunite with the fleet. He hasn't mentioned it since we left Hoth, but then he's been a bit distracted with keeping us alive today to think about what happens two weeks from now.

I'm going to need a more secure pass code for this thing.


	3. 35.20.4315

35.20.4315

I've just read over what I wrote last night. Exhaustion is not a pretty thing.

I got a solid reminder this morning that I'm not on a pleasure cruise. I'm almost positive they don't wake up passengers by whacking a hydrospanners against your cabin door, followed by a loud comment about breakfast in bed that isn't worth repeating. To add insult to injury, he did this with only ten minutes to spare before my shift was due to start. I'll be registering a complaint with my travel agent the moment we get back.

Despite all that, I still managed to clean up and make it to the cockpit on time, although my hair is a disaster. In addition, without my kaffe I am not a happy customer and cannot be held responsible for my actions — I MIGHT have said something rude.

Actually, I regret that now that I've calmed down. It's just that Han's baffling me even more than usual. I swear, sometimes he's like that little boy in school whom you think sort of likes you but he doesn't know how to deal with those feelings so instead he throws rocks at your head. That wake-up call this morning was a perfect example. So is his insistence on calling me ridiculous names until either I snap or he gets bored. But then the next minute he'll do something thoughtful that surprises me, whether it's a smile — a NICE smile, not one of those sneers — or he gives me some little trinket he picked up while on a smuggling run. Or like a few minutes ago when he brought breakfast and some blessed kaffe to the cockpit for me.

See what I mean? That little gesture went a long way toward putting him back in the "nice" category. His overly stern smart-ass freighter captain act? Not so much.

Actually, he does have a nice ass…

There has GOT to be a way to make this datapad more secure! How old is this that it doesn't have a thumb imprint? How typical.

Oh, and he said something when he brought me breakfast that I keep mulling over. He said, "Call me if you need anything." That seems innocuous enough, right? But then why am I'm sitting here making a list of the answers I need from him:

Why did he come back yet again, after swearing he was leaving this time?

What does he expect to accomplish by kissing me like that, why can't I stop thinking about it, and why am I feeling like I need another one?

What are his intentions from this point forward?

What bothers me most is that even if I worked up the nerve to ask those questions, I have no expectations of getting straight answers. I mean, after all this time, why start now?

Oh, and I do need clothing. I ran onto this ship with nothing but what I had on my back at the moment; a white thermal jumpsuit, skivvies, and insulated boots. All my possessions (not that I have much anymore) are probably already on a Fleet ship at the rendezvous point. We rummaged around the  _Falcon_  and found some odds and ends that will have to do, but I look ridiculous. My old handlers in my past life would have had fits if they saw me today, sporting Corellian spacer castoffs, no makeup, hair a rough single braid down the back, and Han's shower sandals. The horror!

Now that I think about it, I should debut this new look in front of High Command just to see their reactions. That might be worth a laugh.

Anyway, it's not like I have a choice. That thermal gear takes forever to cycle through the auto-valet, and what would I do in the meantime, walk around naked? Chewie would probably get a kick out of that since he wouldn't be alone, but Solo's just not that lucky.

Still, I've got mixed feelings about wearing Han's clothing. There's something so…intimate about wearing them. The practical part of me (and let's face it, that's most of me!) is shrugging it off as just another sacrifice for the Rebellion, but there's this little bit of me that's finding it…erotic? Even now, sitting here in his chair in the cockpit, I keep catching myself sniffing the collar of this shirt. It's clean, but there's still this subtle masculine mix of his cologne and cleanser and engine lubricant and HIM that's just so…Han.

I just made myself blush. How bad is that?

All right, change of topic. I promised more about Chewie, didn't I?

Let me just say that I enjoy his company, and I could certainly be trapped on this trip with far less interesting company. I've been getting the knack for understanding his language, and it's a shame more people don't make the effort. While I've no doubt he can be fierce (I've seen him in action), he's nothing but friendly and protective toward me. He is also succinct and even eloquent at times, something I can appreciate. He seems to be the perfect foil to his captain and it's no wonder how they've been partners and friends for so long. It figures they'll be leaving soon, just when I'm finally reaching the point of not having to rely on 3PO or Han to translate.

For the record, I've never fully trusted Han's translations, not after some of the incongruous glares Chewie would shoot him during past conversations. That was one of the motivations I had for asking 3PO to tutor me. This all seems part of the package with Han; you can't technically classify that as lying; it's more like creative interpretation to suit his needs.

I think I'm going to pull up the ship's computer for a little while and see what the comm-station is able to pull in from the CoreNet. It's too soon to expect news about Hoth yet, but maybe I can do some research. It's either that or stare out at the stars until I lapse into a coma…


	4. 35.20.4315…later

35.20.4315…later

It's been an interesting day.

It's my turn back in the cockpit after spending a good part of the day helping out with repairs. I'm no mechtech by any stretch of the imagination, but I am quite expert at passing tools or holding something steady while someone else whacks at it. Helping out is the least I can do considering I'm eating into their stores, and they probably wouldn't be in this predicament were it not for me. I'm a bit surprised Han hasn't flung these facts in my face yet — he normally would.

I'm not much at cooking, either, unfortunately. Anything more than rehydrating emergency rations and I'm at a loss. Let's just be grateful we aren't reduced to that stage yet. There's a fair amount of fresh and frozen supplies in the chiller, so I'm leaving that chore to the boys. Han isn't half bad, even if his menu is short and eccentric — what he does make is pretty good and luckily things I enjoy. He estimates we'll have to switch over to the rehydrates in about ten days. None of us are looking forward to that.

Actually, I've eaten quite a few meals on the  _Falcon_ in the past. Han started inviting me to join them not long after we left the Yavin system — no doubt for his own sinister motives — but I usually take him up on it. One can only eat so much mess hall slop before growing desperate for something more. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

The truth is that I enjoy their company. Sometimes I even need it. It's worth the potential arguments. Some on base would probably find this hard to believe, but there were many evenings when we didn't fight — when Luke would join us and we would all talk and laugh and even play a game, forgetting everything else for a little while. I'm sure there are some in High Command who are dissatisfied with my choice of companions — or at least with these smugglers — but in my opinion it's none of their business. Our comradeship was forged while on the  _Death Star_ , and despite our differences of backgrounds and opinions, we are friends.

Speaking of friendship, aside from that shaky start this morning, Han's been very amiable today. I'd like to think it's due to his relief in finally escaping that angry pack of Imperial star cruisers, but something tells me it's more likely due to that kiss yesterday.

See, Han's normally a bit chatty. Scratch that. Sometimes you can't shut him up! But today he's very restrained — not dour or moody, but just…pensive, and for a while now I've been trying to figure out why. This is just speculation, but I'm starting to think that maybe that kiss got to him more than he'd anticipated. After all, he was always lobbying for kisses, long before that stupid incident in the medical center on Hoth. He turned greener than a Gamorrean when I gave Luke that kiss, just as I knew he would.

That reminds me. I need to apologize to Luke when I see him again because what I did wasn't very nice. I just pray I get the chance.

Han and I had lunch together today while Chewie was on duty. It was the first time we've had a chance to talk about what happened on Hoth — the battle, the evacuation, and speculation on the aftermath. The conversation wasn't light and it wasn't remotely romantic, but maybe it was a bit cathartic. Afterward, we were gathering up the dirty plates from the holotable and he moved closer to me and…and it was like all that energy from before was back again. I hadn't even looked at him, but I could feel it, like these pleasant little sparks skittering along my skin. When I looked up, he was standing so close I barely needed to move to touch him. I told my feet to move but it was like they forgot how.

Wow, look how long it's taken me to get around to the fact that we kissed again! I'm going to consider this a major triumph in self-control because, let's face it; things have been a bit out of control lately. I mean, just writing about this makes me warm all over again.

I don't know what we were thinking. This is so NOT a good idea. First and foremost? He's leaving. In fact, back on Hoth he seemed physically incapable of NOT reminding me of this, inserting it into every conversation as if on a crusade to drive me crazy. It's the main reason why I've never taken his advances more seriously. I mean, where's the sense in becoming romantically involved with someone who's determined to leave you as soon as the time suits him?

Despite all the intellectual arguments and any common sense, though, I STILL wanted him to kiss me this time. I guess I needed to know if what happened yesterday was just some fluke, a result of all the adrenaline and insanity that day. This time things were quiet, safe, without a droid in sight.

Who am I kidding? There's nothing "safe" about kissing Han.

I don't know what to think about this new development, this sudden shift between us. Frankly, it's hard to think, period. For the first time in my life, I don't WANT to think. I just want to go with what I'm feeling and see where it takes us…and that's probably the worst thing I could do right now. I have this growing suspicion that the only thing preventing us from just diving into this is his refusal to commit, but that's crazy. I mean, we're trapped on this little ship for at least two weeks, and then he'll be gone for real, possibly for good, leaving me to pick up the pieces. Is that really something I need, another wound?

But it felt so RIGHT…and that's almost enough to make me abandon all caution. It's not just the pleasure — although Goddess knows I've never felt anything like that before! No, it's the LONGING. I'm sitting here longing for more with him. It's almost like torture knowing that I could call him up to the cockpit right now and he would come running. And yet I can't help wondering — if it's this bad now, what would it be like later when he's not around and I'm still feeling this way?


	5. 35.20.4315…still later

35.20.4315…still later

It's late. Or at least it feels late. With us having to alternate shifts, it's messed with my internal clock and I've already lost track of what time it is relative to the Hoth schedule I was on. I imagine the boys are more used to this sort of thing. In any case, I'm tired, so it's a good thing that my shift is nearly over.

Chewie was heading for his bunk when I came on duty, and Han must have given up on repairs for the day because he disappeared to clean himself up and then dropped by the cockpit. I don't know if his intention was to keep me company or if he was hoping for something more, but we ended up talking through most of my shift. I have to say, it does make the time fly by faster.

He just left a few minutes ago to get ready before relieving me for the night. My mind is all over the place now, so I don't know how coherent the following will be.

I suppose there are a few people who think we do nothing but argue, but it's not true. Oh, we've fought — public shouting matches or slow-burn battles-of-wit that would mortify my old etiquette teachers — but there were also countless late hours during long missions or nights on base when we were able to find a common ground and just talk. Honestly, if we fought half as much as those folks believe, we wouldn't be here together on this long trip to nowhere now because he wouldn't have bothered to come back for me.

Tonight we talked about the likelihood that the Fleet will move on from the rendezvous point by the time we reach Bespin, and what our options might be if that's the case. I won't go into details here for security reasons. (It's bad enough I'm divulging my OWN top secrets here!) Fortunately, I do know of a couple of ways to reestablish contact, so I'm not too worried, although it could take some time.

From there the conversation wandered onto favorite cities and then food. We seem to have a few in common and I hope that someday, when this war is over, maybe we can have a little shared tour of restaurants. I bet he'd love that idea. I think sometimes he gets a kick out of "educating" me, which is okay because sometimes I get a kick out of "letting" him.

Call it a sixth sense, but I've always known he was a lot smarter — much more reasoning — than he likes to let on. I imagine that helps him in his line of business, encouraging his enemies and competition to underestimate him and so on. Sometimes, though, when it's just the two of us talking — when there's nobody else around — he drops that act and…well, it's not so much a surprise as it is a RELIEF. It's confirmation that my instincts were right about him, but more than that, it's that my attraction to him isn't…

(I don't know how to put this without sounding insulting. The last thing I mean to do is insult him about this.)

Basically, I don't think you can really love someone that you can't respect. Am I naïve to believe that?

In any case, it's a relief that he's more cerebral than he pretends, because Force help me, but I'm attracted to him! I've never felt like this before toward anybody, or certainly never this strong. It's like…every fiber within me aches when I look at him, and it's frightening at times. Maybe now I'm starting to understand all those songs about how love hurts. It's all so strange.

My point, if I have one, is that I don't know what I'd do if I felt this way for him and we had nothing else in common. Maybe this attraction would be easier to ignore if I knew there was nothing else to it. The trouble is I already know too much. So it IS this big relief every time he makes me rethink a viewpoint or he supplies a new bit of critical info or when he just makes me laugh.

Actually, I really love it when he makes me laugh.

I keep writing things like "love," don't I? I need to secure that word before it flies loose and causes real damage!

I knew it — this entry is a rambling mess tonight. I was considering staying in the cockpit a while after Han takes over, to return the favor, but I think maybe I should just go to bed instead. There'll be plenty of time to talk later. In any case, I need to stop writing now before he comes back.


	6. 36.20.4315

36.20.4315

I knew it! I was too tired last night, I wasn't thinking clearly, and look what's happened! I forgot this blasted datapad in the captain's chair when I retired to my cabin. I can't believe I did that!

Of course Han found it. He probably sat on it.

I have to assume he tried to access it; that's his nature. It's obvious that he didn't figure out my passkey, though, or else he'd be quoting things back at me because he's just the sort of ass to do that. But he HAS guessed I'm writing something personal or else I wouldn't have secured it. From the moment I stepped out of my cabin this morning, he latched onto me like a Mynock and refused to drop the subject. He wouldn't even do repairs unless they involved being near enough to watch me. I haven't had a moment alone except when I hide in my cabin. I'm convinced it's because he wants to see if I'll write more. Dear Goddess, but he's driving me up a wall!

This was my day today:

"Whatcha writin' 'bout, Leia?"

"Come on, Sweetheart, you can tell me."

"No secrets allowed on MY ship, Your Worship."

"Is the passkey 'nerfherder'?"

"You're writin' 'bout me, ain't 'cha?"

"Don't make me give this to 3PO to decode."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"You're writin' romantic poetry, ain't 'cha?"

Do I LOOK like the kind of person who writes romantic poetry?

How do you write a primal scream? Because seriously, that's what I feel like doing right now — like sealing myself up in the airlock and screaming until all the oxygen is gone.

Han finally relented tonight only after Chewie told him to shut up, grow up, and give the blasted datapad back. Thank the Goddess Chewie's here, or Solo probably would have followed me into the fresher, too!

I'm not sure what to do now. Part of me wants to cycle this out the airlock and be done with it. But yet I'm finding that writing these things out does help clear my mind a little, so it's beneficial, even if going back and rereading it feels a bit like revisiting an accident scene. I'm still not entirely convinced that I should be thinking about these things, let alone documenting them — and today is a perfect example of why.

Why does he have to be so obnoxious sometimes? Just when I think we're making progress, when I'm starting to feel good about things between us, he has to go and…and throw rocks at me again! Is something WRONG with him?

What I really don't understand is why there's some perverted part of me that likes the attention. That's just so wrong on so many levels.


	7. 37.20.4315

37.20.4315

I can't believe we're only four days into this long trip. It's already blurring for me.

For some reason, I'm trying to remember the last time I got to relax outside and enjoy a warm sun. It certainly wasn't while we were on Hoth. Ord Mantell maybe? We weren't there long enough to have much leisure time, and never got out of the city, but at least it was sunny. I wonder if Han has any sort of solar lamps onboard, for just such long trips. I hesitate to ask. I'm not keen to give him any ideas of me sunbathing on the  _Falcon_. But hmmmm, it sounds so good. Just thinking about Hoth still makes me shiver. It's a shame Bespin has no beaches.

When was the last time I got to lay out on a beach and just absorb the sun and listen to the waves? It had to be the royal retreat on Alderaan. The water there was a gorgeous blue, the wet white sand along the water's edge cooling my feet despite the hot summer sun, and I had the entire beach to myself that day.

Ha! I can just imagine Han's reaction if he knew that I prefer to avoid tan lines.

It's been so long since I thought about any of that. I guess that's one benefit of these four-hour shifts — it's leaving me a lot of time to just think. I used to fear that sort of thing, being alone, after…well, after Yavin. But maybe I'm finally starting to feel comfortable with myself again. I'm not so afraid anymore to remember the good things. It still hurts, but it's more of a dull ache now. It's been over two years, but I think maybe it's time to let myself mourn a little, rather than keep running from it. Maybe it's this journal, opening up the safe channel I needed.

Speaking of which, Han hasn't mentioned the diary all day. I'm not deluding myself into thinking he's forgotten, though. In fact, he's taken to popping into the cockpit without warning, no doubt hoping to catch me off guard. I really wonder about him sometimes. Should I be flattered? My habit is to feel annoyed, but he wouldn't be acting this way if he didn't like me, right? And I suppose there are much worse things in the universe than being liked by Han Solo.

Last night was

…

He just did it again. Han dropped into the cockpit for no apparent reason, flipped a few switches on and then off again, gave me a big grin, and then left.

Seriously, what is that?

I've just decided that I don't care if he knows I'm writing this. I could be writing anything, after all: memoirs; battle reports; supplies wish list; favorite recipes (well, okay, that last one is far-fetched). It's awfully presumptuous to assume it's all about him, though. It's not ALL about him.


	8. 37.20.4315…later

37.20.4315…later

For some reason he's not sharing, Han has changed his mind about turning 3PO back on. Considering how much he dislikes that droid (especially after interrupting our kiss), it couldn't have been an easy decision. Not that I'm all that fond of 3PO, either, but he has come in handy sometimes.

Anyway, all of them are up front in the cockpit right now, instructing the droid, even though it's obvious that Han's not thrilled with leaving 3PO at the helm. My guess? Han's sick of the four-hour shifts already and is willing to sacrifice some peace of mind if it means we can go back to a normal schedule. I have to admit, it would be a relief. I typically help out with shifts in the Alliance command center, but for the most part I've always kept my own schedule. If anything, I sometimes work through double shifts. Without daylight, though, my internal clock is thrown off. I guess that's part of why spacers tend to be a breed apart.

Yes, I know. As Han reminds me on a daily basis, I work too much. He's not the only one who tells me this. But what else is there to do? The work needs to be done, there's little else for entertainment, and as I mentioned earlier, the more I work the less time I spend alone with my thoughts. I should try to find a more healthy balance somehow — I've always known that — but it's not easy. I promise to work harder on that.

See? Here's a perfect example of how I'm mending my ways. Right now I'm happy to leave the boys working up front while I relax at the holochess table in the lounge. Chewie made some excellent kaffe and I'm enjoying that, too. In keeping with my decision this morning to no longer care what Han thinks about my writing, I've decided to do just this for the next hour or so. If I can handle a squad of stormtroopers, I'm pretty sure I can withstand Captain Solo's scrutiny as well.

I'm also toying with the idea of seeing what kind of music there might be saved on the ship's computer over at the engineering station. I don't think I've listened to music for the sole purpose of pleasure since my days on Coruscant. I've been afraid to feel too much, and that's exactly what music tends to do to me; it makes me feel emotions that either seemed inappropriate or were too strong to deal with after Alderaan. But maybe I'm ready to start again.

Speaking of Coruscant, I don't think I could ever say that I MISS living there — it was a little too hectic sometimes — but my life has become so stark in comparison that I wouldn't mind some bright lights and color again. Working in the Senate was a challenge and occupied a great deal of my time, but there was still downtime to enjoy the social aspects like the restaurants and shows and other entertainments. Those things are almost non-existent now unless I'm undercover on a mission, and then usually I'm holed up in a safe house or hotel room, so it's not like I could relax and enjoy them for the distractions they are. I no longer have that freedom. It's an ironic turn considering fighting for freedom was what got me started down this path.

…

They're back.

Ha! A pity this old datapad can't record holograghs because I'd have loved to capture the expression on Han's face when he strolled into the hold and saw me sitting here openly writing.

He just sat down across the table from me. I'm going to ignore him. Let him wonder.

Han just announced that from now on 3PO will be manning the cockpit except for when he needs recharging. At least that will keep him out of our hair while freeing us up to do other things.

Now I'm wondering what Han's ulterior motives are. He always has them. He's bantering with Chewie right now but he keeps watching me. I bet he's thinking that it's been almost two days since the last time we kissed. I'm not sure how that happened, considering how much he's obviously been thinking about it. It's not as if he needs my permission at this point — that hasn't stopped him the last two times. We have been busy with repairs, but I bet it's also because he's suddenly worried that whatever he does will end up in this journal. Maybe it will, maybe it won't.

So much for relaxing. He wants me to help out with threading new wiring through the overhead bulkhead and I'll fit easiest up there.

…

Oh dear Goddess, I need off this ship! I can't do this anymore. I thought I could handle anything, but I can't. I can't take another twelve days of this torture!

I spent a good couple of hours working in that crawlspace of the upper bulkhead above the main hold, replacing wiring they were feeding up to me. Chewie gave me a lift up there, but then he went off to start cooking dinner while I was still working, so when it was time for me to quit, I discovered it was just a little too high and awkward for me to just jump down. I needed help back down to the deck, and that left Han.

This HAD to be deliberate.

My hand is shaking just writing this…

Han held his arms up to me, telling me to ease myself down and he'd catch me. What choice did I have?

I lay on my stomach and swung my legs around to let them dangle down through the hatch so he could reach them. I felt him catch my ankles, and then he ran his hands up higher, gripping my legs as I leveraged myself down. Then suddenly I passed the point of no return and so did he, and I was in his arms, my arms straight down with hands on his shoulders to keep me from falling down. His arms wrapped tighter around my thighs, holding me there, his face…

Sweet Mother of Alderaan, that was deliberate!

He didn't just set me down or let go. Oh no! His arms loosened just enough to let me SLIDE down, tight against his body, agonizingly slow, until we were face to face. My loose shirt rode up and I felt his hands on my bare back, and the look in his eyes… I felt like I might fall! I HAD to wrap my legs around his hips to keep from… And then he kissed me again. Just kissed me and… What could I do? My feet weren't even on the deck yet!

Lords of Light, just thinking about this again is making me overheat! It's been a good thirty minutes since that happened, but I'm STILL trembling!

So I'm in my cabin now, hiding. That's all there is to it. The last princess of Alderaan is hiding. I don't even remember how I got here. I should go out and eat before my meal is cold — the last thing I should be doing is wasting food — but, Sweet Goddess, what am I going to do?


	9. 37.20.4315…still later

37.20.4315…still later

Okay, let me try this again.

That panic earlier? That wasn't remotely dignified. I'm more embarrassed now by that reaction than anything else. I'm tempted to go back in this journal and delete the last entry, but since I swore to myself to be honest here, it would be altering the truth. Was I overdramatic and overwrought and maybe a bit silly? Absolutely. But that WAS how I was feeling at the time.

What's changed? Nothing, really, I guess. I've just had time to calm down, to detach a little and look at this ridiculous situation from a different perspective. After all, I've already admitted that I like Han. No, I'm infatuated with Han, and probably have been from the day we met. And he's made no effort to hide his own opinions about me, for better or worse. I know he must feel something similar — he wouldn't have done such brave and selfless things over the years if he didn't care about me. He's also been nothing if not consistent in his attempts to seduce me. Sometimes I'm sure he does it just because he loves to get me flustered — which, by the way, can drive me nuttier than a Life Day spice cake! But most of the time I think he means it, and maybe that's part of why I do get so flustered.

Why do I think that? Because when he flirts with the other women around Base or while we're out on Alliance business, it all just seems part of the game, part of his bravado, all bluster but no action. Well, at least no action in front of me. I'm not naïve — a man who looks that good and possesses that sort of self-confidence can probably pick and choose, and no doubt has on many occasions. But if he's done so since I've known him, he's been discreet.

Anyway, when he flirts with me… Maybe it's just my overactive imagination, but I think he means it. Of course, I might just be falling prey to those same tricks that justify his confidence in his own sexual prowess. I'm not sure which worries me more — that he's only leading me on with the goal of adding another conquest to his list, or that all this is very real yet doomed because of our divergent fates. Each scenario would hurt me, but I'm afraid it might be too late to avoid that. Now it seems more a matter of seeing how things play out…or just taking matters into my own hands.

Oh, you've come a long way, Leia Organa! No more self-delusions. No more denials of the obvious. You're in love with a smuggler. Wouldn't Bail be proud?

Actually, now that I think about it, I wonder what Rieekan will think when he finds out about…well, I don't know what THIS is. It's not exactly a relationship, at least not in any traditional sense. I don't even think this would qualify as a romance — not by any standards any rational woman would use. Dalliance? Indiscretion? Affair? It technically isn't any of those, at least not yet.

Therein lays the other dilemma. We're only four days into this sub-light trip before reaching civilization, and neither of us is very good at remaining idle, not once we know what we want. Maybe what happened this evening was, among other things, the next logical step?

No, "logical" implies there's common sense involved. The inevitable next step?

I think that's where we are now — we're taking these little steps, not sure how the other will react, worried of looking the fool, ready to back away and run if we're wrong, but driven to keep trying anyway. Why it's taken this long to get even this far is beyond me.

What's the next step? I'll admit I'm a little afraid to find out.

Am I angry about what happened in the hold tonight? No, not really. I think I was more upset that it felt like some elaborate set-up, as if he needed to trick me into it. I mean, maybe I'd like to be in on the planning, rather than just being the prize?

When I worked up the courage to go back to the hold to eat with the boys a little while ago, Han kept giving me such an intense look that meant either he was worried he'd finally pushed me too far, or that he wanted nothing more than to give me a boost back UP as well, if you get my meaning… I'm pretty sure it was the latter because every time I met his eyes across the table, I thought I might spontaneously combust.

Chewie wanted to talk about his recent cultural observations during our last mission to Mindota, but all I could think about was how magnificent it had felt to have Han's hands run along my bare back, his lips moving against mine. How it felt to wrap my legs around him, something I've definitely never done before…

I can close my eyes and bring all those sensations back with such vividness that it leaves me shaking, the impulse to wrap around him again as much an emotional desire as instinct now.

I don't know how to deal with all this. How can one ever be sure that these feelings are mutual? There's no indelible stamp on his forehead to tell me, "I mean it." There SHOULD be — it would make my life a lot easier. But there isn't and I don't know how to tame this doubt, other than to cast it all aside and trust that he's sincere.

Even if Han's intentions are good, I still have trouble picturing a happy ending. But at least I'm willing to admit now that if I could see a future for us, together, I'd gladly jump into whatever this is with both feet. I think it could be very good.

Poor Chewie. I can't decide if he's oblivious to what's happening or if he's desperate to keep from being caught in the middle. But I wouldn't be surprised if a few hairs were singed tonight.


	10. 38.20.4315

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author's note—I rarely do dedications, but this entry is for LASOS for inspiring the first bit, and to the song "Kokomo" by the Beach Boys. Come on, you know it's catchy—I bet you're singing it right now.]

38.20.4315

Why doesn't this surprise me? Remember that little boy from school I keep mentioning? (His name was Roddrik, and…well, that's all by the by now.)

Anyway, Han has started writing now, too. Goddess only knows what he's writing about, but he's sitting across from me at the holochess table right now, half the time with his head buried in what appears to be a much more modern datapad (no doubt with a thumb scan!) and the rest of the time staring off into space or at me.

If he's doing this just to drive me crazy, I won't give him the satisfaction. I was a member of the Imperial Senate — there is NOTHING more insanity-inducing than that. If he's doing this to escalate matters, he's picked the wrong woman because I can escalate the HELL out of things! I'm just saying…

Besides, I'm sure he's just writing a detailed step-by-step technical manual on how to swap out power cells without…

He just asked me how to spell "succulent."

I'm going for a walk.

…

Chewie is cooking something that smells divine. I don't know what it is, but it's permeated the entire ship. Han and I just spent the last few hours remounting — ugh, let me rephrase that! —SECURING the cooling fluid conduits that broke loose during all that rough flying a few days ago.

I don't know how he does it! Maybe it's through some subconscious body language he has, but Han has this ability to make innocent things around the ship sound suggestive: Remounting? Flux coupling? Tongue-in-groove joining? Male and female jacks? (Well, okay, that one's no challenge.) Cockpit. Joystick. Grease nipple. Petcock.

All right, so maybe there ARE a lot of words that sound that way already without his help. My point is, how, in all the hells of Kessel, does he manage to make "rack and pinion" sound sexy?

It's no wonder I'm finding it harder to work with him now. While I'm struggling to concentrate because he's standing so close, he's purposefully distracting me with that sort of nonsense. Not only does he take advantage of the situation to touch me whenever he can, even if it's just my hand when we swap tools, but he's constantly talking about this or that and sometimes I start zoning out because it's usually about his ship and I'm watching his lips move or maybe I'm just watching his hands and thinking about how they felt on me or I'm daydreaming about a day when this war is over and the next thing I know I've agreed to something he's said and he's laughing or giving me The Look and I don't know whether to run and hide again or just give up and burst into flames.

I'm rambling again. See what I mean? I don't know where my discipline has gone, but it's probably a good thing there's nobody else around to witness my complete breakdown. I should have plenty of time to get things back in order before we arrive on Bespin. Frankly, I HAVE to, because this won't do. I can't BE this…this stereotype of a love-smitten space-case who forgets everything she was before some man came along. There's just too much at stake, too much history. I can be a lot of things — I'm WILLING to be a lot of things — but it still has to meet my terms. Does that make sense? I don't know. I hope it does.

Anyway, the odor of dinner was the final blow and we gave up working for the day. Now I'm sitting at the holochess table again and Han's fiddling around on the ship's computer over at the engineering station, trying to find some music to go with the upcoming meal. So far it's been hit or miss, but at least he's asking my opinion. He'll start a selection, twist around in the chair to look at me, and I'll give him a thumbs-up or thumbs-down on each one. Efficient and democratic, it's everything the universe should be.

Some of the songs are making me laugh and he's doing that on purpose, but some of them seem to come complete with built-in memories for me and they catch me off guard.

For example, he just played one song that was a big sensation right around the time I started at the university. You could hear it at every party or while walking around campus. It was such a catchy tune, teasing your senses with exotic and romantic destinations that we'd all heard about but never visited yet, and you couldn't help but get drawn into it. I was in the middle of writing this entry and didn't even realize I was singing along until something in the song made me look up and over at him, and I caught him giving me The Look again.

Maybe it's because he's never heard me sing before? He should count himself lucky.

I'd better stop now and go help Chewie serve dinner.

…

I can't believe I wrote the word "cock" twice in this journal (now officially three times!). Let's hope this never becomes part of my memoirs or I may cause a few gasps of shocked outrage amongst the upper sets… Then again, that may be worth keeping it in.

The food was as good as it smelled, the music lifted the mood a bit, and the conversation ranged all over the place. Actually, it was probably the music itself that brought up one topic that I was surprised to learn we had in common.

I don't know what made me bring it up, but I mentioned that I'd met the members of this one particular band that had been quite popular back in the day. There were certain benefits to being a princess, after all, and that included being able to indulge a whim on occasion. I didn't do it often, so Bail was a little more inclined to agree when I did ask.

I'm not going to name names here (I'll protect the not-so-innocent), but this band's lead singer was rather scruffy-looking, if you get my meaning. For a less-than-charitable reason, I suggested to Father that he add them to the line-up at a charity event that he was hosting. He agreed since they could draw in both a great deal of credits and appeal to the younger citizens. Naturally this would mean several conferences with the lead singer while we worked out the details.

Long story short, the concert was a great success. But nothing else happened and he wasn't quite what I'd expected. I'll admit now that I don't know what I WAS expecting to have happen — I wasn't exactly the type of fan he was used to dealing with, and I wasn't even considered of legal age yet in half the Core systems. Mostly he just dismissed me as a little girl. Still, I guess you could call it one of my first big crushes, and I was left a bit extra-crushed after that incident.

I still wonder if Bail ever suspected my ulterior motives…

Anyway, as Han was listening to my entire drama unfold, he began to wear this big grin on his face, looking like a gundark eating stinging creepers. He waited until the end, and then he said that he'd met the band once, too, but under entirely different circumstances, of course. Evidently, he was in some lower-level nightclub on Coruscant in-between commissions when in walked the lead singer and a few others, all of them already three-engines at full throttle on jet juice, and it wasn't long before they started picking fights with the other patrons. (Let me insert here that Han has never been afraid to start something that his friend Chewie can't finish.) Suffice it to say, their encounter that night explains why that lead singer now has a noticeable notch missing from his right ear, and had to wear a bacta-cast for a week.

Funny how the universe works sometimes, isn't it?

Oh, and Han walked me back to my cabin door tonight and gave me a goodnight kiss. He said it was a thank-you for helping out today. While I would not qualify that kiss as innocent, it could have been a lot hotter.

No, really. It could have been. A lot.

Yes, yes, I know, I know. I clearly have a type.


	11. 39.20.4315

39.20.4315

I realized during breakfast that I've mentioned The Look several times already in this journal, but haven't described what that is, exactly. Even though it's a bit indescribable, I'll give it a shot.

(Be warned, it's entirely possible that this is all in my head, so take it for what it's worth.)

Imagine molten gold and primeval forests and sultry summer nights and the richest kaffe and your favorite joke, all wrapped up into one intangible feeling.

See what I mean?

…

It's been a quiet day so far. I think we're finally caught up with the vital repairs — aside from the hyperdrive — because this morning Han tore apart the entire motor and gearbox for the rear freight elevator, until the parts were scattered all over the aft hold, and then had me clean each piece while he reassembled it. I also get the feeling it was no accident that he made Chewie see to the backed-up drain in the fresher stall at the same time, even though it was probably my hair causing the problem.

I've no doubt Han thinks he's being subtle, but seriously, it doesn't take a Jedi Master to spot the hidden agenda there.

I should be flattered that he's making such an effort to spend blocks of time with me like this, even if it's while doing mundane chores like scrubbing gears with a brush and cleaning solvent. Then again, for all I know, that's half the thrill for him, watching me work on his ship.

The funny thing is that I AM finding a certain satisfaction in working with my hands like this. Not to belittle the knowledge and skill that it takes to run and maintain a starship, but there's a simplicity — a matter-of-factness — to this sort of work. The parts either function or they don't. There's no grey area, no politics, no decisions affecting millions to be made every day. There's a finite amount of things to go wrong, and you can be prepared for all of them. Sure, it's trading one whole set of problems for another set (obvious things like engine failures, tight budgets, natural and not-so-natural hazards, and dealing with both local port bureaucracies and the blunt end of the Empire, to name a few). I no longer have any illusions that this life is easy. But it does seem fairly straight-forward, and there's something to be said for that.

It took us all morning to complete the overhaul of the lift, and we talked most of that time. I'm pleased to report that I think we're finally getting the hang of this conversation thing. What I think has changed is that we're both learning to stop taking the teasing so personally — that the little jabs aren't meant to wound but only to stimulate. It's a fine line, but we managed very well today, and it was quite pleasant.

What did we talk about? You know, the usual small talk, like the rise and fall of guilds and trade routes within the Old Republic. Doesn't sound very exhilarating, does it? But one thing I've learned about Han is that if it's a topic that he's interested in, he can more than hold up his end of a conversation. I might have even learned a thing or two today, although I'm not advertising that fact.

Oh, and I also learned that Han had been to Alderaan a few times. I don't know why this surprised me. Not only was Alderaan on the main trade routes, but despite my father's efforts, it had also supported a thriving black market. Han hesitated when the name came up, as though afraid I might break down or something — I'll be honest, I wasn't sure, either — but instead it felt cathartic to just talk about Aldera and Crevasse City, and to experience it through the eyes of someone who was anything but your usual ambassador or tourist. I could close my eyes and see what he was describing. Bringing it back to life like that, if only for a few moments, has left me in a bit of melancholy the rest of the day, but I don't regret the topic coming up. It's nice to learn that he does know and appreciate some of what was lost forever.

…

After Han called an end to work today, Chewie decided to dig out some old mainstream holovids they've had stashed away. Now THERE was a fascinating insight into what makes these smugglers tick! For instance, neither of them will own up to who brought aboard the copy of "The Littlest Bantha." But I have my suspicions.

While I'm familiar with many of the classics (including "The Littlest Bantha"), I'll admit I'm behind on the more recent vids that have come out. I've been busy, after all. I think Han was still hoping to lighten the mood after our talk this morning, so he suggested "The Curse of the Green Maru." It's a typical formulaic adventure comedy that was a big hit a year or two back, and it did sound like just the sort of mindless entertainment we needed tonight.

There was really only one logical place to set up the projector, in the center of the main hold. Chewie grabbed the bucket seat at the engineering station, so Han and I were left alone to get comfortable on the banquette in the holotable nook.

Now, I will state for the record that Han was NOT sitting that close to me before the lights dimmed, but we weren't ten minutes into the vid before he had his arm around my shoulders. Because I did not want to make a scene — and maybe because it was rather nice to sit that way — I let him stay there.

The vid was pretty standard fare, a mix of action and slapstick and romance, the promised distraction for the evening. At some point I was laughing at a bit of witty dialogue, and I glanced up and back at Han when I felt him laughing as well. Despite the dark shadows in the nook, I could see his expression suddenly grow serious, and then he leaned in to give me a little kiss. And I kissed him back.

And then the flickering lights from the projector had stopped, and we came up for air to discover the holovid was ending.

How could I have lost track of time like that?

Chewie must have decided to give us some privacy because he was already gone when the lights came back up. THAT is a bit embarrassing.

All I remember is the way his lips caressed mine, teasing and tasting, and how his tongue found mine, tantalizing and drawing me in deeper. How his hands touched my face, my neck, down my back, but never pushed me further than I was willing to go, never breaking the spell. I remember the coarse stubble on his cheeks beneath my fingertips, and how soft the longer hair behind his ears felt between my fingers, while his warm breath moved against my skin. The way that entire half of my body would tingle, the hairs rising, whenever his mouth would wander back to explore around my ear. I remember thinking we should stop, but then going back for more, feeling breathless and yet needing this more than air itself. He felt so right and real and alive and mine.

I've never felt anything like that before, such a complete inability and reluctance to return to reality.

Suddenly I've gained a whole new understanding into why my old roommate at the university would disappear with her boyfriend, and then stumble back in after curfew looking like she'd been wrestling with a faulty air regulator on an enviro suit for the past hour.

All I know is that Han is the most amazing kisser, and it's probably a good thing the vid ended when it did, or we might never have stopped.

How is that even possible?

Needless to say, I have no idea what happened in that dumb holovid.

I wonder if it would be too obvious if I recommend we play it again tomorrow night…


	12. 40.20.4315

40.20.4315

Here's a bit of trivia. Han can understand seven languages, speak in four of them, and read three. Just thought I'd mention that.

There's a tongue joke in there somewhere that I am determined to avoid.

…

Here's another bit of trivia. Due to creative tinkering by her captain and first mate, the  _Falcon_  consumes thirty-five percent less fuel than spec, and yet exceeds her original speed ratings by forty-seven percent.

Don't ask me how.

…

Something just occurred to me a little while ago. We're slogging our way to Bespin because we would run out of provisions or fuel before we could reach the next viable option. But what if the Empire has put two and two together as well? What if they've caught on to the fact that we've been unable to jump to lightspeed all this time, and realized that rather than continuing to chase us through asteroid fields, they'd have better luck laying a trap at the only logical place we can make port? It's not that difficult of a puzzle to piece together. Granted, I'm a bit late at it, but I've been preoccupied.

I'm afraid to bring it up with the boys, but I also realize that I probably don't need to. I imagine they've known it all this time and haven't mentioned it for the same reason — that worrying about what-ifs does no good for your peace of mind when you have no choice. We've been monitoring proximity sensors and nothing's gone off since we left the garbage dumped by the Imperial fleet, so there's some reason to hope they believed we did finally succeed in making the jump, but…

Sometimes I really regret when my mind comes up with things like this. I was having a good day until that thought arrived, and I'd prefer to go back to believing Han pulled off a brilliant escape. But sometimes you just get a feeling and then it never quite goes away.

…

Okay, here's yet another bit of trivia. Han knows how to make bread from scratch.

Well, technically he had a recipe to do it, but he'd never actually TRIED it until today.

We were taking a break and setting up the holochess board to play a few hands of sabacc, and as our conversations lately have been turning more and more towards food, I happened to mention that I haven't had any really good bread since before Ord Mantell.

I have to say, I don't think I've seen Han look that inspired since the day back on Hoth when he helped Rogue Squadron convert a portable space heater into a jet juice still. (Which I was forced to confiscate the next day only AFTER Rieekan found out — it wasn't my fault and they can all stop blaming me for that any time now!)

Anyway, he practically flew out of the banquette and over to the engineering station to bring up the ship's computer. Then he crowed, "You're in luck, Sweetheart," and waved a flimsy over his head like he'd just won the Galactic Grande Lottery.

"Luck" is probably not the appropriate word for what happened next. Like I mentioned before, I'm not exactly an experienced cook, let alone a baker, and Han is…well, I'm sure he's a competent cook when he's concentrating. However, he's also a marvelously good distraction when he wants to be one. The galley is quite small, with barely enough room to turn around in, let alone squeeze in two people. Take some flour, add some left-over giddiness from the Lost Hour of necking the night before, and mix well.

Goddess, what a mess! At one point Chewie strolled by, took one look at us, and wisely returned to the bunk room. I think I inhaled some flour from laughing so hard.

When it came time to knead the dough, I probably should have stopped my participation in the experiment, or maybe suggested splitting it in half or something. But instead he moved to stand behind me, wrapping his long arms around me, and then began helping me knead it on the countertop.

I had no idea that making bread could be so physical…so sensual. Watching his strong hands as he worked them into that dough, feeling them on mine, shivering whenever he would duck his head to kiss my neck or just exhale along my shirt collar, his hard body practically molded against me like that…it wasn't just the oven unit in that galley that was getting hot.

You need to be very careful, Leia Organa. Very, very, careful. It's no secret anymore where this sort of play will lead. It's no secret anymore that you wouldn't even mind going there with him. But it's also no secret how this kind of journey will probably end, and you need to remember that. It's all fun and games until he leaves.

I can't begin to explain just how sad that makes me feel tonight.

The bread turned out okay, and it was almost…satisfying?...to eat it knowing that it was something we'd made from scratch. I don't think either of us has stumbled into a new vocation, by any means, but it was nice to have something fresh for a change. The experience was certainly something I won't forget any time soon. In fact, I'll be lucky if I can sleep at all tonight.

Oh, and here's a good clean-up tip: Don't use compressed air in a tiny space if you're trying to clean up loose flour.


	13. 40.20.4315

40.20.4315

We had a fight this morning.

I realize there was a time, not too long ago, when this announcement wouldn't have been considered news by anyone, but after the way things have been going since this inadvertent trip began, it was jarring. Until now things have been so...smooth. I couldn't contribute it all to that first big kiss, but it certainly set the tone for the days that have followed, and I thought we'd finally found a truce.

I don't know what went wrong today. Maybe it's all this pent up energy we're feeling, all this …I don't know, this sexual tension, building up with no reasonable outlet. Maybe it was us being pent up for so long in this tiny ship, just the four of us, and we're bound to get on one another's nerves eventually. Maybe it was just to break the monotony of this trip. I could sense things were heating up, becoming personal, and yet neither of us made any effort to avoid the inevitable clash.

There was also a time when I would have enjoyed arguing with him, if only to see the injury in his eyes and the twitch in his features whenever I landed a solid punch of words; it meant I was making him hurt as much as he could hurt me.

This time, it just hurt.

I was left feeling sick and angrier with myself than with him. What made me ignore all the warning signs?

It probably doesn't even matter what started it — it rarely does — but it ended with the same old accusations of his inability to commit and my fear of letting go.

You want to know what I'm REALLY afraid of, Han?

I'm afraid of losing this war. I'm afraid of seeing Alderaan's destruction become nothing more than a distorted footnote in the Imperial archives. I'm afraid of how many more friends and comrades will have to die before it's all over. I'm even afraid of little spinners and the other creepy-crawlies that never fail to make me jump whenever they appear in my quarters or around Base.

But I am NOT afraid of letting go. Sweet Goddess, all I WANT to do is let it all go! I'm just afraid of doing it with YOU, because it's becoming so clear now that you can hurt me more than anyone else, and I have every right to be afraid.

Never mind. I'm still mad right now.

…

I spent most of the afternoon in my cabin because I needed to be alone, so I guess it's reasonable for one to interpret my move to the cockpit a little while ago as a subtle indication that I'm willing to talk.

Han just brought me a cup of kaffe and the last couple of sweet cookies to share. He didn't say a word for a long time, but the lack of a scowl or snide comment made it his version of a peace offering.

If only real diplomacy were this simple.

…

The mood tonight is subdued — even Chewie is quiet. We're sitting around the holotable and the boys are in the middle of a holochess game, but they're barely talking. I've been watching and thinking and trying to write, but my mind feels so muddled right now that it's a struggle. I really don't have anything to say that I haven't already said this morning, or all the countless other times we've run up against this wall of obligations blocking our way.

Even though I've accepted Han's peace offering and admitted we were both at fault this morning, I'm still left feeling off-balanced. Whatever this fragile thing is we have between us, it suddenly feels broken and I don't know how to piece it back together.

Since their match started, Han just seems to study the board for a while, make a move, and then look over at me until Chewie tells him it's his turn or kicks him under the table to get his attention back on the game.

Maybe he doesn't know how to piece this back together, either.

And even if we could, what would we do with it?


	14. 41.20.4315

41.20.4315

We're only halfway there.

That sort of sums up everything, doesn't it? I'm halfway to Bespin and halfway into a relationship with Han, and I'm trying very hard not to think that they will both end at the same time.

Father always said that life is a journey and how you handle the inevitable obstacles along the way determines how smooth the ride will be. I tell myself that there couldn't possibly be anything worse that could happen to me, that I've had more than my fair share of pitfalls already, but even if I assume that I'm not halfway along my own journey, that's not a very realistic outlook. This career path I'm on pretty much guarantees a bumpy ride. All I can do is strap myself in and hope it's worth it.

I overheard the boys arguing this morning; at one point I could hear them halfway around the ship, so it wasn't that hard to miss. Although I couldn't make out most of it, at least some of the topic dealt with their plans after we return to the Alliance. I have my own opinions on this, but it's really none of my business and so I retreated to my cabin until it blew over. Besides, I really have no desire to wind up in another argument with Han, and that would be the inevitable outcome if I bring it up again. I've learned that much.

It's pretty obvious now that tempers are still frayed since yesterday, and I'm straining to find a way to fix things. This shouldn't be so difficult — we're fairly smart people, after all, not to mention battle-tested friends. Yes, I'm partially to blame for what happened yesterday and I should know better, but I think it's so easy to fall back into obsolete emotional patterns rather than muddle through all these far more complicated new ones, and I'm sure that's as true for Han as it is for me. It's sad how that's so easy to recognize here in this journal and yet so hard to put into practice.

Why is it that this man can make me abandon all decorum and common sense in an instant? It's like he knows how to bring all my emotions to the surface, both the good and bad ones. Lately it's definitely been more of the good, but it seems such a balancing act.

Starting today I'm going to make more of an effort to be cool-headed around Han, and keep those bad emotions in check.

Don't laugh. I mean it.

…

In order to make our normal food supplies last the entire trip, we all agreed back at the beginning to make one meal a day consist of just survival rations, which are nutritional and filling but not remotely interesting or flavorful. It seemed the better choice compared to using up all the regular food first, only to face multiple meals in a row of nothing but the bars.

I'll give it to Han; he's trying to keep things from getting boring.

Tonight he took the bars, cut them up into decorative shapes, and artfully arranged them on a platter with color print-outs of real meals pictured below. His instructions were to study the flimsies, then close our eyes and pretend.

Goddess help me, but it did help and he made us laugh while doing it.

Have I mentioned that he's a complete mental case?

…

We spent the rest of the evening playing sabacc. Even though Han keeps suggesting we play for pieces of clothing during these games, I'm not confident enough in my abilities to take him up on the challenge, and Chewie just doesn't see the point, so instead we play for loose bits of parts and equipment around the ship — the larger the piece, the more valuable, the only restriction being that it has to fit on the table. It's usually good for a laugh or two, although Chewie has a clear advantage over all of us, and he nearly broke the table on that last bet before Han called it quits.

Han then offered to walk me back to my cabin door, as if I might be waylaid along the way. I didn't bother to point out that the only thing that might prevent me from reaching my cabin unmolested was him. See, I'm learning! Besides, how could I resist such a chivalrous gesture?

Yes, it's obvious what he had in mind, particularly since he'd done it before. He stopped by the entrance to my cabin and leaned down for a goodnight kiss. And yes, I'll admit that this was something I was hoping he would do because I don't like this broken state we've been in. We hadn't kissed since the night before last and I'd missed it.

I'm still not sure what happened today that was different, but maybe things are mending between us after all.

I'm also happy to report that his kiss was indeed hot enough this time. Maybe this is part of that "make-up" phenomenon I've heard about. All I know is that I don't think it's realistic for either of us to expect me to fall sleep soon after a kiss like that. In fact, I feel like I just drank an entire decanter of Coruscant-style kaffe, followed by a stim-shot chaser.

Why do I get the sneaking suspicion that was exactly the effect he was hoping for?

It's a nice feeling, just the same.


	15. 42.20.4315

I don't know what made me think of this today, but suddenly I was reminded of walking through the gardens and grounds of the summer palace at night. There was something magical in how the vibrant colors and energies of life in full bloom would linger even after the sun set and the air cooled, and I could remember feeling it surround me whenever I strolled along the lakeshore or on the winding paths through the arboretum and flower gardens. Sometimes it was so strong, as if I were a part of it; that the lines blurred between me and the life around me, and if I just reached out my arms, I could gather it all in and… I don't know what.

I guess that sounds a bit silly now, but I was still quite young, after all — for better or worse, I'm not that young woman anymore. Those walks were something I usually did alone, sometimes to clear my head if I was struggling with some problem, but mostly it was a chance to daydream for a little while, a luxury I rarely had time for during the day.

Actually, now that I write about it, I think I DO know what brought back those memories.

Han called me "Sweetheart" this morning while helping me assemble breakfast. That in itself wasn't a new development; it's more in how he says it these days, not out of irony or to provoke me, but because he seems to mean it, and that keeps triggering memories and emotions I haven't thought about in a long time.

He's called me lots of names over the years; in fact, I'm half convinced he sits up late at night inventing outlandish new monikers to test out the next day just to see how I'll react. I'm also pretty sure that giving him any reaction other than a neutral stare simply encourages this aberrant behavior — although I'm not certain the cold stares are any more of a deterrent since he still does it, anyway.

But lately I've noticed a change. He still uses "Your Worship" whenever he wants to needle me (I can't help it — it does!), but he's slacked off on the less flattering ones; no more "Your High-and-Mightiness" or "Your Exaltedness."

Instead he just calls me "Sweetheart" or "Leia" now, and I don't care how clichéd this sounds — it IS like music to me. When he purrs my name, it's like this intimate caress that starts at my ear but then moves all over and through me in ways that should be obscene. Knowing him, this is no accident, but that doesn't make it any less powerful. In fact, to be perfectly honest, the notion he intends it this way makes it that much stronger.

And you know what? So long as he keeps saying it like that, he can call me anything he wants.

Dear Goddess, if only I'd known that just kissing him would bring about such a dramatic improvement in his behavior…!

I've gone off-track. What does any of that have to do with those summer night walks?

I realized that the imagery I used in my earlier attempt to describe The Look is similar of those full-emersion experiences in the gardens at night; how they both could leave me tingling and attuned to things that I sometimes forget otherwise. But I think I'm also reminded of some of those old daydreams — the romantic flights of fancy that other young women were probably filling their own journals with while I was busy writing speeches. My own private fantasies of charming and handsome suitors determined to win my hand through feats of bravery and sacrifice; defending me, swaying me, kissing me, seducing me…

You get where this is going.

I've clearly connected these things in my mind somehow, as if Han had always been a part of them rather than some faceless suitor; walking along my favorite path through the manicured hedges and having him emerge from the shadows to join me in a furtive rendezvous, even though those gardens are long gone, and he will soon be gone as well…

If he knew I've had thoughts like this, I think he'd try to make it happen. He strikes me as the type of man who would do that. I like that.

…

After dinner tonight (chopped nerf patties, reconstituted root mash and some sort of thawed green I couldn't identify but wasn't half bad if you covered it with enough sauce), Chewie decided to drag out his collection of holos.

Han rolled his eyes and teased about how sentimentalism and raging-hairy-beast reputations just don't mix, but Chewie reassured him by offering to give a personal demonstration of his continued ability to rip arms out of sockets. Then he handed me a holo of his family.

Should I be surprised to find that Han is in the holo with them?

Chewie does have a lovely family, and I hope someday soon he'll be able to return to them. They evidently haven't been back in a couple of standard years, not since Jabba's bounty was posted and they'd become entangled with the Rebellion, which I find very sad — and doubly so when I think that I may be partially to blame for that.

We ended up spending a good part of the evening doing this: Chewie pulling a holo out of the crate, activating it and then either chortling at the scene or gazing for a long moment in reflection, and then passing it along to me with an explanation. Sometimes Han would laugh along or chip in his opinion on the captured memory, but sometimes he would remain silent, watching his partner or me. It's so hard to tell what he's thinking at the best of times, but when he broods like that, I'm not even sure I want to know anymore, because it's moments like these when I'm tempted to pretend that I could maybe ease whatever pain he's feeling, soothe his troubles, touch him and…

See what I mean? How can I imagine I could fix him inside when I'm so broken myself? What a pair we'd make!

Anyway, at some point Han got up and disappeared down the corridor in the direction of his cabin, and I worried that we'd somehow accidentally struck a nerve, but then he returned and handed me a single holo. His expression was so serious, his gesture so solemn, that I hesitated activating the viewer, afraid of what it might reveal, as if things might irrevocably change between us the moment I did.

It was a silly notion, no doubt a leftover from those soppy days wandering the gardens.

The moment I turned on the viewer, I recognized the hanger deck back on Yavin IV. Somebody had captured the moment when the  _Falcon_  and the remnants of the fighter wings had returned after destroying the  _Death Star_ ; when the ramp had lowered and Han had strutted out to be mobbed by flight deck crews, but had resolutely ignored them and marched toward Luke's X-Wing to greet him with the sort of roughhousing that boys will do. And then I arrived and nearly knocked Han off his feet with a full-body tackle, which probably wasn't one of my more decorous moments, but Han does have that effect on people.

It's funny, seeing something like that, particularly after all this time and all the ups and downs we've been through; sometimes it's easy to forget, caught up in the stress and trauma of this life we've chosen, that there's something so monumental and special shared between just the handful of us.

Or maybe I'm reading way too much into why that holo was Han's only contribution tonight — I think I've been doing that a lot lately. Maybe he's like me and just doesn't have much to share…which is rather sad when I think about it. I wish I had more to share — I wish I could show him some of the things that meant so much to me. While I'm grateful to Chewie for sharing a bit of his personal life with me, I'm a little envious that he could.

Our kiss goodnight was longer than usual, and I ended up banging my head on a wire conduit, but it was worth it to see his instant concern before I laughed it off and told him there was probably no permanent damage to his ship.

Ha! I made that sound like this new ritual is some long-standing tradition or something. I'm not saying I wouldn't mind it becoming that, but it's not something I'm used to by any means. I can't help but wonder if this sort of nightly routine would be frowned upon back within the Alliance ranks — it certainly would have made Hoth seem warmer.

Is it considered fraternization when he isn't officially a member?


	16. 43.20.4315

I can't sleep.

No, that's not accurate. I WAS sleeping, and then suddenly I was wide awake for no apparent reason. Of course, like most dreams, any details have slipped away and all I can remember is feeling stressed and anxious, and really wishing we could turn this ship around and…I don't know, go anywhere but where we're heading. I'm sure it's just a manifestation of the dread I'm feeling for when this little journey is over and Han has to leave for real. Try to imagine sitting in the passenger seat of a pilotless speeder and you're racing toward the edge of a cliff and yet you're unable to alter the course or apply the retros – that's about how helpless I'm feeling right now. Not to be melodramatic or anything.

Anyway, I gave up on sleeping and wandered around the ship for a while, and then stood in the cockpit and stared out at the barely moving stars, wondering which one was the reflected light from Bespin. We must be getting close, but it's still too difficult to pick out from the field of others and I've purposely avoided asking Han to point it out because that's just one way of admitting we're one step closer to the day he leaves. We already tried saying goodbye once, back on Hoth, and look how well that worked out. Even though the atmosphere between us has changed so much since then, I fear it won't be any easier.

Now I'm curled up in the chair at the engineering station in the main hold and it feels like I have the entire ship to myself; any other time and that probably wouldn't bother me, but this seems to be one of those moments when I really don't want to be alone. Shouldn't this be right about the time that Han awakens, somehow sensing that something is wrong, and comes out to investigate, only to find me gently weeping, so he comforts and cajoles and kisses me until I'm swept up in his arms and carried back to my bunk…or his…?

Seriously, Organa. You need to stop using mushy holo-romances as guides to your personal life!

Besides, right now I'd be just as happy to see Chewie.

It's morbid curiosity that makes me wonder how much longer our trip might be if we flew past Bespin and aimed for the next closest port… With only two mouths to feed, flying on might have been an option for the boys, but with me on board, I'm afraid that's cut their options down to just this one — which also happens to be the one place I suddenly don't want to go. How's that for irony?

I've never been one to bemoan life as being unfair — after all, much of what happens to us is random and out of our control, while the rest is the result of our own decisions. For example, it was random fate that both threw the two of us together onboard the  _Death Star_  that day, and random fate that provided this chemistry between us, but it was always our decision whether or not to take advantage of the opportunity and explore it further. Rather than wisely use the time we did have together, though, we instead chose to squander so much of it in petty arguments and willful misunderstandings. Now providence has trapped us together on this long trip with what we want most within our reach, and yet we're too afraid of being burned one last time by fate to take that ultimate step.

Honestly, just this once, I wish the Goddess would cut me some slack. I know she has a warped sense of humor, and normally I can appreciate that, but this is no longer fair or funny. It isn't even reasonable!

Maybe this is what Father meant when he said that if something's too easy to be had, it's too hard to hold? Personally, I find that of little consolation when I'm sitting here knowing our situation could so easily change with just a word of consent from me; I could make things different, and yet I can't.

…

I just went for another walk around the ship because it's too quiet and I'm feeling restless. How bad is it that I'm contemplating cycling an airlock just to test how fast the boys would react to the breach claxon?

What's even worse, I read over what I wrote earlier and it's probably just as well I'm alone right now — I'm downright maudlin this morning.

Oh, and guess what I DID find during my last tour around the ship? The other data pad, the one Han's been periodically writing in, lying abandoned on the curved bench around the holochess table. It's a much newer model, full of bells and whistles and possessing a better security than this old thing I'm writing in. Assuming he locked it – he certainly must have! – any attempt to access it would be a waste of time, and besides, it would be an invasion of privacy. So you might as well stop looking at it!

Since I'm up and about, maybe I should prepare something a little more elaborate than our usual fare for breakfast. I could do a quick inventory of what's left in the galley and then check the ship's computer for more recipes the boys might have stored to see if there's something I can throw together. At least that will get my mind off his damned datapad sitting over there…

…

Note to self: Stick to politics.

Now I know just how fast the boys can respond to an emergency claxon.

I'm not sure which is worse — having Han legitimately angry at me for causing a fire in the contained atmosphere of his ship, or feeling the fool in front of him as a result. While he's already laughed it off (he's still laughing at this moment), I know I won't be living this down for a while. He keeps reassuring me that it's not a big deal, that he appreciates my burnt offerings, and that seeing me coated in fire retardant looking like a miniature wampa was worth the clean-up work, but my display of complete incompetent is NOT something I'm accustomed to, and the fact he got to witness it is just so humiliating!

I can only imagine what he was writing in that blasted datapad while I was showering afterward.

Ugh. Stop thinking about it!

He also said at one point that it's refreshing to see how I'm just as capable of making a complete fool of myself; I'm still not sure if that's a compliment or not. Hasn't it occurred to him that part of why I've held him at arms' length all this time was because I feared doing just that, of playing the fool?

All the same, I guess it is reassuring to learn he can be so magnanimous about it, and in a small way maybe that discovery made this incident worth it. That side of him must have always been there, but until this trip either he wouldn't show it or I couldn't see it. Chalk that up as yet another regret, Your Worship.

Dear Goddess, now he's got ME saying it!

…

Just a quick note here before we sit down for our evening meal. By unanimous agreement, I've been demoted to entertainment as it will keep me far away from the galley. Chewie has expressed an interest in watching another holovid, and I'm suddenly in a quandary over what to pick. I can't help but remember — or to be more accurate, I can't stop thinking about — how our last holovid night played out, and I'm not sure how to make a selection now. Would picking something more romantic send the wrong message, or would picking something completely mindless like that first vid send a totally different wrong message?

What exactly IS my message, anyway?

What did Father say about this sort of situation? "Damned if you do. Damned if you don't."?

I think the word "damned" seems a bit harsh for the situation.

Maybe it was, "You can't please everyone, so please yourself."

No, I'm absolutely positive Bail never said that.

I just made myself laugh.

Oh, maybe "damned" is the right word after all.


	17. 44.20.4315

This entry is going to be difficult to write because it's hard to explain and because I managed to injure my left hand today and it's still sore.

I was sitting on the deck in the rear hold, trying to help Han with swapping out some wiring inside the hyperdrive compartment. That was probably my first mistake.

At some point I was reaching back behind this one part and couldn't see what I was doing, and then wasn't careful enough when I went to pull my hand out. The back of my thumb caught on something sharp and instinct made me try to jerk it away, which just made it worse. I let out this cry of pain and then a curse word that I'm embarrassed about now. (In my defense, with torture you have a little time to prepare yourself.)

Anyway, my reaction was nothing compared to Captain I-Once-Had-To-Stitch-Up-My-Own-Side Solo. The man is no stranger to blood, but evidently it was the first time he'd seen MINE. You'd have thought I'd lost a limb!

How many people can claim they've been fussed over by Han Solo? I probably don't want to know. I'll pretend I'm the first.

In seconds he'd stripped off his old work shirt and wrapped it around my hand to apply pressure, all the while bellowing for Chewie like there was a flock of TIE-fighters dropping out of the sun to attack. Then he helped me up off the deck and into the main hold to sit at the holotable. While we waited for Chewie to bring the med kit, Han pulled away the bloody shirt just long enough so both of us could get a better look at the damage. It was a fairly deep puncture and continued to bleed, but not as heavily as before.

After applying an anesthetic hypo, he kept applying pressure while waiting for it to kick in, and then was mostly silent while he cleaned the wound, but the whole time he kept looking up to give me these guilty glances as if it was his fault, which it wasn't. It wasn't like the  _Falcon_  bit me, after all.

Of course, what insisted on occupying my mind during this entire drama? The fact that Han was without a shirt and sitting so close I could feel his body heat and smell his skin, all the while being so gentle and caring and looking so sexy at the same time that I just wanted to climb onto his lap and let him do whatever else he wanted. Anything at all.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He finished applying some bacta gel and bandaged my hand, and only then did he let out this sigh and look back up at me. Then he just froze, staring, and it suddenly occurred to me how obvious I must have been at that moment, a little crazed from adrenaline and this sudden onset of lust, looking like I was ready to eat him alive. I was flushed and it wasn't from embarrassment.

Try as I might, I can't pretend that Han is so innocent that he didn't recognize my look, even though he'd never seen it from ME before. I'm pretty sure I've never been so obvious.

I could see him swallow hard, every tanned centim of his exposed neck, which just made me blush hotter. I was so lost by that point that I didn't even know how to start looking for an exit.

In the end, I didn't need to. Han broke away first. I still don't know why, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. I'd expected him to take advantage of the situation — although to be fair, it's hardly taking advantage when the other person is so willing — but I guess I don't know this man as well as I'd thought. He pulled away, mumbling something about me staying put while he cleaned up, then he got to his feet and disappeared in the direction of his cabin.

Only then did it feel like somebody had suddenly turned the atmospheric systems back on in the ship so I could breathe again. My hand wasn't hurting anymore — it was numb by that point — but the rest of me was so hypersensitive that I just sat there with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths until I felt somewhat normal again and responsible for my actions.

It was a little while longer before Han returned. He had washed up and was wearing a new shirt, and he was carrying a couple of wet cloths. He paused for a moment and just looked at me, no doubt assessing whether or not this petite Alderaani who was clearly in heat was still a hazard to his health.

What can I say? He's a brave man. He sat back down beside me and started washing away any remaining traces of blood from my hands. This time, though, his attitude was a little more relaxed because he teased me a bit about having to charge me extra for medical supplies and services rendered.

I'll also give the man credit; he knows his audience. I think we've reached the point in this relationship that his taunt wasn't so much a call to battle as a challenge to a duel of wits, something neither of us is capable of resisting.

I stated that, for the record, because he had announced he was no longer working for the Alliance, he had left Hoth without paying for his fuel, so he was already in arrears and at best breaking even. I don't think he was expecting that. So he went for the food and lodging angle, saying that feeding a princess for an extended period had never been part of his and Chewie's admittedly tight budget. I explained that kidnapping a member of High Command was generally frowned upon, and fines might be the least of his worries.

Now, all that time, he was gently wiping at my hands with a damp cloth, although by now they were as clean as they were ever going to get without a proper scrubbing in the sink. He must have realized that because he gave up and set it aside, but still kept my good hand in his. As if I wouldn't notice.

Anyway, Han went on to speculate on the going rate of wayward princesses on the open market, which nearly made me laugh out loud before I made it clear that any warrantees had already expired or been voided, and the instruction manual was lost years ago. I succeeded in making him laugh first. For good measure, I added that there was visible damage now and indicated my hand. He conceded the point, but said that I still cleaned up nicely, which naturally succeeded in bringing a little bit of that damned blush back to my cheeks.

Goddess, I'm so predictable sometimes.

That's when he finally proposed a compromise to resolve our impasse. Still holding my hand, Han suggested that maybe he could find some other way to balance accounts. His smile was comfortable, but he met my eyes and for a second I wasn't sure which direction he was going; if he was still teasing or if he was edging back into that serious territory we've been exploring so much lately.

Some older instinct told me to flee the scene before I found myself in yet another embarrassing incident, but something else made me throw caution aside yet again. I told him I was listening.

He paused for a moment, looking down at my hand still in his, as if not all that sure where he was going, either. Then I swear it was like I could see this little indicator light flash on above his head before he brought his other hand over to unfold my fingers and expose my palm. He said that for a reasonable fee he would be willing to give me an authentic Corellian-style fortune telling session.

I was half expecting he would propose something lewd (Dare I admit I was half hoping?), so it was my turn to be caught off guard. Without analyzing his intentions or sincerity, I agreed to his terms.

With that, Han spent a few moments in a theatrical show of shaking off bad energies before assuming a deadly serious demeanor that by itself nearly had me in hysterics. I could already tell that I was in for the reading of my life.

He began to gently run a fingertip across my palm, starting by tracing the obvious lines, and I couldn't help myself — I squirmed in my seat, partly because it tickled and partly because I never knew just how sensitive that spot could be. If his purpose was to heat me back up again, he was doing an admirable job. I started to wonder if maybe I should have held out for a different offer, one less prone to making me shiver.

"Your Highness, I sense great events in your future…" he said in this wavering tone a little higher than his usual baritone, clearly trying to sound mysterious.

I broke in to ask, "Do you mean great as in "good" or great as in "big"?

He told me to not question the supernatural forces he was channeling, and then went on, keeping his tone melodramatic to balance out the silliness of his next several predictions. I mean, one hardly needed a clairvoyant to foresee that we'd be eating rehydrated noodles and a ration bar for dinner later, although he stretched the limits of credibility by adding that I would enjoy them both immensely.

This went on for a little while, him tracing secret paths along my hand and keeping me poised in this balancing act between laughing out loud and melting into a quivering mass of gelatin at his touch. How he could do that to me, and for so long, was really the only mystery I was concerned about.

Eventually his finger traced along the arching line that cut across the top of my palm and then along my index finger until it reached the tip, and he said, "You will take a long journey, with many surprises along the way."

Still participating in the humor of the moment, I was sorely tempted to ask if this was my future or my present that he was talking about, but he anticipated my interruption and held up his finger to stop me, then returned his fingertip to mine and trailed it back to my palm before drawing an invisible circle there. "You will find what you have lost."

That made me pause, and suddenly I felt myself wanting to read a lot more into this game than I should have. I mean, I've lost so much. Most of it could never return, but I think there's a part of me that would be desperate to bring any of it back. So I asked him what it was that I'd lost.

Han straightened up a little, probably hearing the more serious tone in my voice, because his hazel eyes darted up to mine for a second, as if too late he realized he'd struck a little closer to home than he'd intended.

"Maybe you haven't lost it yet, but don't worry, you'll find it again," he said and then he delved back into my palm and made a harmless prediction about what I would be wearing tomorrow.

I think that was his attempt to salvage the situation before the mood was ruined. Even so, I wasn't really watching what he was doing anymore, but just watching him. He was trying so hard to make me laugh — I could see that now — and although I was grateful that he cared, part of me had lost the spirit. It wasn't his fault. It's me.

You see, I think we both realized today, during this silly little pastime while he was trying to help me forget about my hand, that there's not much fun in predicting a long-term future when the odds are so stacked against you. When your life is normal and the threat of sudden death seems remote; when the common expectation is to live a full life and die of old age, it can be entertaining to speculate where you might be ten or twenty or even fifty years from now. As children you play this game with friends, weaving elaborate futures full of handsome men and grand gestures and too many children. But now…

I don't find myself thinking much about the future, not anymore. Instead I think about how I'm going to climb over the next obstacle or just survive until the next close call. At best, sometimes I picture how this war might end; how someday we might be able to rebuild a republic I was too young to even remember. I don't think I've grown up so much as I've grown…realistic.

That doesn't mean I don't want a future. Goddess knows, as I watched Han wind down his act until his large hand came to rest over mine, covering it completely so that he just held it within both of his, a part of me frantically wanted him to keep going, to lie to me and weave that fantasy of a long life ahead, filled with happiness and love and companionship and children and all those things you're supposed to hear during one of these sessions.

But I couldn't do that to him. He doesn't deserve it.


	18. 45.20.4315

Han is refusing to assign me any duties today, no doubt because of my injury yesterday. I'm chalking his reluctance up to overcompensation and left-over guilt. It's not worth a confrontation, so I've resigned myself to a boring day of alternating between playing with this obsolete datapad and surfing for anything on the CoreNet that might be of use to the Rebellion.

A little while ago Han helped me redress the wound. My hand is still a little tender, but the bacta took well and it's already healing nicely. He's assured me that I probably won't even have a scar.

Call it a form of reverse or perverse vanity, but sometimes I wish it WOULD leave scars. They could serve as little reminders of real moments in a life that feels a bit surreal at times. Then I could point at them and say, "Here's the time I burned my hand so badly on the heating element of one of the big stoves in the palace kitchen because I didn't like being told what I could and couldn't do, and because I didn't believe anything so pretty could be so hot. Here's the moment when I tripped on the hem of my gown and cut my knee on the palace steps, and Father insisted on carrying me the rest of the way, despite the fact I was already old enough to vote. And here's where a handsome but smart-mouthed and sometimes oblivious Corellian smuggler taught me that I still wanted more out of this life."

Sometimes bacta works too well. If only it could heal things like broken hearts. I can foresee a time when I may need that.

I don't think I'm being pessimistic. I'm being realistic. It isn't a question of what I want, or what he wants, or even of what's possible. It's a matter of what is and isn't happening now. We obviously have the attraction and the desire, and even the means, but we're still missing a vital element to the equation. We still aren't a couple, and yesterday I realized why.

Couples talk about the future; they make plans and share dreams and look forward to what's coming next. We do none of those things.

It's a bit ironic that, at some point along my journey in life, I began living only for the moment, and yet when it comes to Han, a man who seems to embody living for the moment, I'm not willing to settle for that. I want more, and rather than just taking what pleasure I can get now and being happy with that, I'm clinging onto this last thread of a promise of something beyond tomorrow.

I've never been much of a gambler. Even in this war I still prefer to ensure that all the sabacc cards are aligned in my favor before I make a play. That's why it doesn't make much sense that I'm willing to take such a huge risk by holding out for more with Han. The odds are very strong that I'll lose this game and walk away with nothing.

What's more, yesterday Han did the same. He knew I'd finally reached the point where I was ready to seize the moment, so to speak, but rather than jump at the opportunity, he stepped away until I'd come back to my senses. At first I was a hurt by what seemed a sudden change of heart, but now maybe I'm beginning to understand.

You know, he's a lot more like me than I realized. Because I think he's not willing to settle for anything less anymore, either.

Am I a fool to believe that maybe this means both of us are willing to fight for that common goal rather than just give up now?

Having a goal like defeating the Empire and restoring a healthy republic is so distant and vague that it's almost too hard to quantify let alone achieve, but having a goal like finding a compromise where Han and I can be together and be happy seems just a little more attainable, a little more within the realms of what we can accomplish if we just put our heads together.

See what I mean? Does this sound like the reasoning of a pessimist?

…

Han's very frustrated about something. He usually doesn't hesitate to let me know if I'm the reason, and the only other thing that tends to work him into such a state is the  _Falcon_ , so I have to assume she's the cause.

A few moments ago he gave up on whatever he's been doing since breakfast, and now he's sitting near me at the holochess table. He's scribbling away furiously on his datapad, not saying a word. He's within arms' reach, but I'm sitting at just the wrong angle and so I can't make out what he's writing.

I don't think his intention is to distract me, but he's certainly succeeding at it. So I have a choice. I can continue sitting here being distracted and curious and paranoid, or I can just ask.

…

Well, THAT went on a tangent I wasn't expecting.

I finally worked up the nerve to ask what he was writing, and he snapped and said that he was composing a strongly worded letter of complaint to the manufacturers of some component of some doohickey that has cracked in the exact same place that the last doohickey cracked, and now he's run out of doohickeys and will have to buy more, which is all clearly part of some evil corporate scheme to sell more doohickeys.

Yes, doohickey IS an official term, along with thingamabob, gizmo, doodad, and thingy. I can even point them out on the ship with my eyes closed.

Anyway, after another minute of this tense silence as he finished capturing his angry thoughts on screen, he finally seemed to expend all his negative energy, gave this big sigh, and shoved the datapad out of the way on the tabletop. Then he turned to me and said that fair was fair and it was my turn to tell him what I was writing about.

He had a point. It was my fault for being nosey. I debated over how honest I needed to be, and then decided to compromise by saying that I was just writing about things.

His expression made it pretty obvious that he wasn't satisfied with my answer. I wouldn't have been surprised if I were the next to receive a strongly worded letter of complaint.

How was it possible that any one man could look so annoyed and eager and curious and grouchy and handsome all at once without breaking something vital?

My own resolve cracked. I elaborated by saying that I'd been writing about my feelings regarding what's been happening on this trip.

Needless to say, I had his full attention. I also noticed that most of that grumpy irritation had disappeared, leaving behind a much nicer blend of intrigued gorgeousness. While he didn't appear surprised by my revelation, he didn't say anything either.

Father always told me that the most difficult part of effective diplomacy was in knowing when to keep silent, but let's face it, that was never one of my strong suits. I'm starting to suspect Han's aware of my weakness, too. He just kept giving me that same look, as though he knew I'd break down eventually and that he deserved some sort of explanation. I don't know where he got THAT idea — I mean, all he'd told me was that he'd written a complaint letter. What was he expecting in return, a full confession?

So instead I just leaned forward and kissed him. A nice, long, lingering kiss. It was the first time I've initiated anything like that, and I'm rather proud to say that I was right in thinking it would succeed in deflecting his attention.

Well, what else was I supposed to do? I'm certainly not going to let him read this stupid thing!


	19. 46.20.4315

46.20.4315

Two days.

I'm not sure when this happened, but at some point I switched from counting how much time we've already spent traveling to how much time we have left. It's a subtle change, but I think it must reflect the changes I've undergone lately.

In many ways Han is still simply Han, but I've noticed that something in his demeanor is different, too. He's quieter and more attentive, more agreeable, more… well, more everything. It's as if at some point he suddenly stopped being my pursuer and rival and started being my equal and companion. Again, it's like all those subtle differences that were barely noticeable began to accumulate until suddenly it hits you upside the head and you sit back and think, "Wow, what was THAT?"

Well, in any case, I suspect Han had one of those moments after I kissed him yesterday because he looked a bit shell-shocked when I left him.

Since then I've had time to reflect on things, including going back and rereading the previous entries in this journal. It's funny how you think you know yourself, only to have your eyes opened if you make the effort to step back and become an impartial observer, or as impartial as you CAN be about yourself. Knowing this story is in my own words makes it all the more humbling, particularly when it's so clear how this earlier me was too close and so occupied with the immediate details that she couldn't see the bigger picture.

Oh, I'm not kidding myself. I still have no clue what the bigger picture is. Maybe none of us does. But at least I'm acknowledging its existence. I think that's progress.

We took the bandage off my hand this morning. It's healed so well that you wouldn't know anything painful or enlightening had happened.

See what I mean?

I'm trying so hard not to think about how fast this day is flying by, or how much faster tomorrow might be, but every time I look at Han, I can't help it. I used to think it was unbearable, waking up every morning wondering if today might be the day he finally carried out his threat and left, but I realize now that knowing for a fact is far worse. Now that I can actually count down the days, I'm nearly physically ill with the thought.

The thing is, I know he doesn't want to leave. He never has. Why else would he still be with us after all this time? But he's right to worry that he could eventually lead a bounty hunter to our doorstep and bring all of us down, or at the very least take a wrong step some day, or be just a second too slow, and that will be that. He can't hide with us forever. And I honestly don't think his leaving was EVER the real source of our differences.

No, the real question — the one neither of us was willing to voice because it meant revealing our greatest weakness — was whether or not he would return. If at any point he had simply said that he would come back, I would have understood and happily wished him luck, and I'm sure that if I had asked him to return because I WANTED him to, he would have gladly taken care of this business long before it became a deathmark. But instead we continued refusing to face the truth, preferring to squabble over symptoms rather than addressing the cause.

You know, I write this as if that's all in the past now, but it isn't. We're STILL doing it. Yes, we aren't necessarily arguing anymore, but that's obviously because we've found the kissing more enjoyable. But we're only avoiding the inevitable. One of us is going to have to say it, and soon, before it's too late.

Why is it that I'm less afraid of squaring off with a squad of stormtroopers armed with only a holdout blaster than I am of baring my soul to this man? What's the worst he can do, laugh in my face? Patronize me as a child like that lead singer did years ago? Roll with it and then leave me anyway? Or is this really about my fear that he'll say he feels the same, building my hope so high that it'll hurt even worse if everything comes crashing down?

…

Dinner was singularly unspectacular. I guess that's one upside to the fact we only have one and a half days left.

Not long after we started on this trip, I began reserving a small block of time for myself after the evening meal, hanging back here in the nook in order to gather my thoughts and write, while the boys would either resume whatever project they'd been working on earlier or take a little personal time themselves, but in general they would leave me alone for that time.

Tonight Chewie has disappeared, probably to his cabin, but Han has yet to leave the table. He's sitting across from me, just staring as his finger traces along the checkered pattern of the table top, as if he doesn't know what to do. He hasn't spoken a word since Chewie left, either.

I'm not sure what to do, either. Maybe he wants to talk, but I don't know what to say.

That's not true. I have too much I want to say; in fact, there's so much bottled up inside me right now that I'm afraid once I start I won't be able to stop.

He's so quiet right now, so far away, that I'm able to sneak long looks at him and he's not even noticing. He's typically always on-guard so it's not often that I get this sort of opportunity.

Have I mentioned how much I love his hair? Or his hands? For instance, I know they're strong because I've watched them countless times at all sort of tasks, but I've also felt them on me and I know how gentle he can be with them. I've already described his eyes, but I don't think I could ever do them justice; they're so expressive and smart and playful. He's so handsome to me that even the little flaws like that scar on his chin or the slight port-side lean to his nose adds character rather than taking away from his good looks.

Is it strange that I can be so happy with simply sitting and looking at him like this? I mean, it really makes me smile. Is that normal?

…

Well, THAT was bound to happen. Han just caught me staring at him with this big, stupid grin on my face. I should count myself lucky I got away with it for as long as I did, but it's still awkward. I'm more prepared now for the usual teasing I get whenever I'm caught like that, but this time he just met my eyes for a long moment and then asked why I was smiling.

I wasn't expecting that.

I know why I was smiling, but what could I say? "Because you make me happy," sounds so clichéd!

So instead I asked him how he got the scar on his chin. After all, it seemed like a nice segue and I'd always been curious.

Almost like it was subconscious, he reached up a hand to finger the spot in question as he gave me this chagrined look. He said that it was a souvenir from a night of alcohol and bad decisions many years ago.

Funny how he gets to keep a scar from that sort of life lesson, and yet mine all disappear.

I don't know what made me do this next, but I heard myself announce that I liked his scar.

He tipped his head and looked at me like I'd just divulged a High Command cipher key, and to be fair, up until recently his getting one of those codes out of me probably WOULD have been easier than that sort of compliment.

But I didn't stop there. I told him I'd been studying his features.

Again, he gave me this look as if he'd never met me before, and then he asked why.

Something compelled me to tell the whole truth this time, and I said that I thought it might be interesting to draw his portrait.

You see, with all this sudden spare time on my hands, I've been playing with some of the other features on this old datapad, including using it to brush up on my drawing. I never had much time back in the day to learn more than the basics or hone my skills, and the stuff I've been doing in here up to this point have been little more than fun doodles while I thought of what to write next.

So yes, I've been toying with this idea for some time. What I never anticipated was actually TELLING him this.

At first I was sure he was going to laugh at the idea or at the very least mock me. There was this brief flash of amusement in his eyes, but then he drew in a breath and straightened up on the bench before saying, "If you'd like to."

You know that little rush you get after that first sip of strong liquor? It was like that.

Now the challenge was to hide my excitement and nervousness and Goddess knew what other emotions as I switched the screen on my datapad to the sketching feature, put the tip of my stylus to the screen, and then finally glanced back up, ready to start.

That's when he broke out one of his more roguish smiles and asked if I'd prefer him in the nude.

I should have seen that one coming.

I told him that I'd prefer to capture his better qualities first, which succeeded in making him laugh.

Then I asked him to find a more relaxed position since he didn't really look like his normal self while sitting bolt upright like that. He showed discomfort for a few moments, clearly unsure of what to do in the same way most subjects do when they're suddenly made consciously aware of how they sat, and then he finally settled for resting his forearms on the table and leaning in on them a little in an attentive pose that I thought captured one of his more attractive traits. As an afterthought, he then clasped his hands together, assuming a little more of a thoughtful air.

I was watching him all this time, half with an artist's eye and half with…well, my OTHER eye, secretly pleased to see him being so cooperative.

As I got a little more comfortable on the bench as well, I took a deep breath and then paused to finally really OPENLY study him. All of him: from his increasingly scruffy haircut to the sensuously bowed curve of his lips to the muscled exquisiteness of his forearms. And for the first time he did nothing but watch me back, no more teasing leers or other gestures to distract me. He just watched.

At first I was also very self-aware of my movements and of being studied in return, but then I fell into the task, warming to my subject (no pun intended), and each time I would glance up, it felt like this little confirmation of something inside me.

I don't know how much time we spent doing that. I remember moments when I would look up and then seem to forget what I was doing, and then he would give this little smile that would snap me out of whatever spell I was in, and I'd go back to drawing. It was so unexpected to have what had started as a lark, something to deflect his attention from the fact I'd been caught admiring him, turn into the quietest and most wonderful evenings we've ever spent together, the perfect excuse to gaze at him as long as I wanted without embarrassment or fear.

Why had it never occurred to me to do this before?

In the end, I think I did a pretty good job. And I think I may have even impressed Han, which is not as easy as it sounds.


	20. 47.20.4315

47.20.4315

I don't think I've had regrets. It's never been in my nature to second-guess past decisions, mainly because there seemed little point. Instead, I try to learn from any mistakes in the hopes of avoiding making them again in the future. After all, where's the profit in wondering what might have been?

But suddenly I'm realizing that maybe I just haven't lived long enough to have any regrets until now.

When I think about how things have changed since leaving Hoth — how Han looked at me yesterday, and how I've been feeling about him all this time — I guess in some small way I regret ever allowing the kiss of a knock-about smuggler to get to me like this. That first kiss was nothing more than a promise of a promise, and my life would probably be easier now if I'd simply stayed the course and remained aloof. But I didn't stay detached. I couldn't…

But I didn't follow this path with him to its obvious conclusion, either. Instead I made the choice to NOT make a choice, and now I can't help but wonder if THAT will become one of those painful what-ifs to haunt me until my last breath. I can imagine a time many years from now (if I'm lucky) when I'm on my deathbed and my grandchildren will ask me if I have any regrets, and I'll say, "Once there was this man, a most handsome Corellian, who knew me better than I knew myself and yet he still wasn't afraid, but I was…"

Upon reflection, there's been little in my life that has involved real choice on my part; more often than not I've felt like a pawn, just a cog in a larger mechanism I can't step far enough away from to see in its entirety. Even this relationship with Han has conditions that leave me with few options; but there was one big decision I could have made, and I fear I've blown it. I had my chance — maybe that once-in-a-lifetime chance — and I didn't even recognize it until time was already running out.

I guess maybe that's why, in a surreal way, I feel like I'm back where I started — hiding in my bunk in this converted equipment closet, avoiding Han because I'm afraid of my own reaction and avoiding the inevitability of today. So much has changed, and yet nothing has.

Right now I almost wish Han would come along with his biggest hydrospanner and bang it against my cabin door, or do something else equally obnoxious, just to get me angry because THAT I know how to deal with. Instead I feel like I've suddenly dropped out of hyperspace without any bearings or a star map. All I know is where I want to be, but I have no idea how to get there. Maybe I wouldn't feel so lost if only I'd trusted Han to navigate from the beginning.

In a few hours we're due to reach the atmosphere of Bespin and then things will return to business as usual. The boys will do their repairs and restock, and I'll begin my efforts to reestablish contact with the Fleet.

That last part sounds a lot easier than it will be — after all, if the Fleet were that easy to locate, the Empire would have squashed it a long time ago. How much longer will it be before I can rejoin them, and how long will Han accompany me while that happens? My experience with his protective streak leads me to believe he'll stay as long as it takes…but then my instincts aren't exactly trustworthy (as noted above) and we all know he can't afford to delay his own business any longer. In fact, there's a strong argument to be made that I'd be safer left alone than with him right now. So it's likely that once he's assured that I'm secure on Bespin , maybe with his friend's assistance, then he'll finally say goodbye and I'll be left to find my own way back. That's the most logical, the most practical solution…and then all I'll have to accompany me on the trip back are these new regrets.

See what I mean? I'm suddenly accumulating them faster than I care to admit.

Speaking of regrets, it's just occurred to me that I can't take this journal with me, not even downloaded onto a microchip. There's nothing Alliance-related in it that isn't already common knowledge, but it's practically an instruction manual to my own warped psyche if I'm captured with this on me. What was I thinking?

I should wipe the record now and cover my tracks…but I can't. I can't! For some bizarre reason, it feels as if erasing these memories would be the equivalent of admitting it didn't happen, and with so much of my life already wiped out, I just can't bring myself to do this on purpose. But I can't take it with me, either — not if we go our separate ways once we reach Bespin. I don't know what to do!

I need to think. I still have a little time. Maybe he won't just dump me here after all, and then I can take it with me. Journals are against regulations within the Rebellion for all these reasons, but I'll deal with that later. Ugh, what was I thinking?

I need to get going. I still need to shower and try to look presentable despite the fact I'll be back to wearing my thermal Hoth gear — there's only so much you can do to dress up that sort of thing.


	21. 01.04.4316

01.04.4316

Well, I'm not even sure where to start. It's been over a standard year since I wrote that last entry and I'm out of practice on this thing. I've been helping Han clear out this equipment closet (my one-time cabin), and to suddenly come across this diary feels like opening up a time capsule from another era! I guess in some ways that's exactly what this is.

I remember intending to delete this journal, but at the last moment weakening and hiding it under my bunk instead. I think my rationale — for lack of a better term — was that maybe someday, long after the boys had flown away to move on with their lives, Han might discover it while moving things around in here. I imagined he would finally figure out the passkey (it was "scruffy looking," not exactly a brain-teaser), and then spend long hours reading through my ramblings from beginning to end, all the while wearing that wistful smile he gets that always melts my heart. It would be this grand, romantically tragic scene.

Of course, that never happened.

The nightmare in Cloud City, the six long months I spent in limbo with the Fleet while waiting for word on the bounty hunter who had taken Han away, and the months and battles that followed after his rescue meant I didn't have access to this, and then I simply forgot about it.

But here I am today, and with some rare free time to update, no less. Plenty of time, anyway, until Han wonders why I've gone so quiet and probably comes looking for me.

It's rather funny, in a bittersweet way, to find myself once again writing while we're in the middle of an entirely new journey together, only this time we aren't in danger and this trip is intentional.

This may come as a bit of a shock, but Han and I are on our honeymoon.

I know. Get the smelling salts. Clutch the jewels. Alert the media.

Scratch that. Goddess knows, it's all over the Holonet, so they already know. That saves me having to rehash all the gory details about what's happened in the past year. In any case, that's not why I'm writing this last entry.

And yes, this will be my last entry.

You see, the young woman who inadvertently poured her heart out into this datapad a year ago is no more, and I'm here now to bring that part of her life to a close. Just like the rest of the universe, she's changed and moved on. She's matured. She's awakened.

 

**The End**

As I was scanning back through the previous entries today, there were two things that stood out to me. One was just how lost I sounded, both emotionally and spiritually. It's incredibly difficult to steer into the future when you've become convinced there isn't one. The other was just how close I'd come to the truth, but yet it still somehow eluded me. How could I have been so right and yet so wrong about everything; about him, about me, about so many things that seem crystal clear now? I guess that's exactly what they mean about hindsight having perfect vision.

I will gladly give Han most of the credit for this, and in more than just the obvious ways. He was the catalyst of my transformation. He's always been.

It's no secret that I'm stubborn. Bail used to tell me it was both my best and my worst trait, and Han carries on that tradition. I'm sure that's his way of keeping me humble, and he's got some solid leverage there. After all, it took his nearly dying in front of my eyes before I could admit I loved him.

But I did admit it, and I'm so glad that I did. He's sweet, he's caring, and he's handsome as ever. He makes me laugh, and he's in love with me.

As the saying goes, I may be slow, but I'm no fool.

But I also know that we were lucky. Very lucky. We beat the odds and we're still here, together. Best of all, suddenly there's this future spread out before us, as wide as the universe and limited only by our own imaginations. And I'm okay with that.

I don't know what lies ahead for us. It hasn't been an easy road so far and we're still so new at this marriage thing that sometimes I wonder if it will ever get any easier — but then I realize that if things ever became THAT easy, I'd probably begin to worry what was wrong.

But do you know what the biggest change of all has been?

That I'm looking forward to finding out.

I'd also like to state for the record that kissing Han hello is SO much better than kissing him goodbye. In fact, I could spend an entire day kissing him hello, and I'm pretty sure I have.

…

I don't know what to do with this journal now. I suppose the most prudent option would still be to wipe the memory, but at this point there's no real threat from its existence other than to my pride if this ever ended up on the Holonet.

But I'll confess, there's a part of me that's tempted to hide this again in hopes Han might still find it someday…


End file.
